Explosive Attraction

chapter Fourteen



After finding out about McHenry and Fullerton, Rafe and Darby spent the night and most of the following day in the hotel waiting and hoping for good news—news that never came. Now they were driving down the highway again. Darby longed to go home, to her house on the beach, and let her stress wash away with the outgoing tide. But that day didn’t seem as if it was going to come anytime soon. Not until Fullerton was in custody.

Rafe drove past another hotel, the first one they’d seen in the past twenty minutes, but he didn’t stop. He was too busy on the phone with Buresh, discussing the ongoing investigation and the hunt for Fullerton. After Rafe ended his call, and passed another hotel a few minutes later, Darby started to wonder if he was ever going to stop.

“Is tonight’s hotel in Miami?” she joked.

He didn’t even smile. “Not quite. We’re not going to a hotel. We’re staying somewhere more remote, safer.”

“Safer?” Her stomach clenched and she glanced at her side mirror. No other cars were on the road. No one was following them. “You’ve been awfully quiet since your last phone call with Buresh. Has something else happened?”



He sighed heavily and pulled the car to the side of the road. Turning in his seat, he took her hand in his. She wished he hadn’t, because her pulse started slamming the moment his fingers touched hers. Then again, maybe that was good. When he touched her she had a hard time focusing on the bad things around her. And from the serious look on his face, she had a feeling she would need his touch to anchor her from whatever he was about to say.

“How much do you remember about the Fullerton case?”

“Not much. It was a long time ago. My case notes were sparse. Basically, I interviewed him several times and determined he was competent to stand trial. He knew right from wrong at the time of the murder.”

“If he’s the one who committed the murder.”

She tensed, her hand clutching his. “What are you saying?”

“It was a circumstantial case,” he said. “No blood. No fingerprints, based on eyewitness testimony placing him at the scene, some fibers and hair. Motive was supported by a recording on the victim’s answering machine.”

“His girlfriend. He threatened to kill her after she broke up with him. I remember,” Darby said.

“There was no GSR on his hands, or his clothes.”

“Gunshot residue?”

He nodded. “Fullerton was picked up a couple of hours after the shooting. He tested negative for GSR, and the murder weapon was never found.”

“But...GSR washes off, right?”

“Yes. Eventually.”

“I don’t understand,” Darby said. “The jury convicted him. Has something changed? Did a witness recant their testimony?”

“No one recanted, but eyewitnesses can make mistakes.” He drew in a deep breath and checked the mirrors. “The guys at the station dug into Fullerton’s alibi. He’d claimed all along he was at a minor league baseball game in Jacksonville, but no one at the ballpark remembered him. He didn’t keep his ticket stub. He said he’d paid cash, so there wasn’t an electronic record of anything. Buresh had the guys dig deeper. He had them look into back issues of Jacksonville’s daily paper, the Times-Union. They found a sports feature for the ball game Fullerton said he attended. One of the pictures with the article showed some fans sitting in the stands.” His hand tightened on hers. “Fullerton was one of those fans.”

Darby’s stomach sank. No, he had to be wrong. If he was right, that meant... She swallowed hard. “He could have left the game early. That doesn’t prove anything.”

“The background in the picture has specific details to nail down when the picture was taken. It seems highly likely the photograph was taken a few minutes after Fullerton’s girlfriend was murdered. The ballpark is forty-five minutes from the vic’s house.”

She shook her head. Part of her knew she was being irrational, but she couldn’t accept what he was telling her. “Time of death isn’t always exact. The coroner could have—”

“Time of death isn’t in question. Neighbors heard the shot, called the police. They were on the scene within minutes.”

Darby started to shake.

Rafe leaned over and pulled her against him. He rubbed his hand down her back and cradled her head against his chest. “It’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault. These things happen.”

She clutched his shirt in her fist. “We sent an innocent man to prison. We destroyed his life. We—”

He eased back and put his hand beneath her chin, gently forcing her to look at him. “Stop blaming yourself. If this is anyone’s fault, it’s Fullerton’s attorney’s fault. He should have dug deeper, like we just did, to prove his client’s alibi. We presented the facts as we knew them. And you...” He rubbed his thumb against her cheek in a soft caress. “All you did was testify that he was competent to stand trial—which he was. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

She nodded miserably, desperately trying to believe what he was saying.

His gaze dipped to her mouth, then, slowly, deliberately, he cupped her face in his hands and pressed his lips to hers.

She was so startled she froze, expecting him to jerk back, like the last time he’d kissed her. But instead, he deepened the kiss. She shuddered and curled her fingers against him, pulling him closer. The dark shadows of the past faded. He kissed away every thought, every hurt. Teasing, tasting, his tongue tracing erotic circles with hers.

Her belly tightened and she moaned deep in her throat. How long had it been since she’d been held like this? The answer slammed into her. Never. She’d never been held or kissed like this. When Rafe’s lips moved against hers, heat shot through her from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. How could he make her feel cherished and treasured and make her crave him with an intensity that was frightening, all at the same time?

When he ended the kiss, the sense of loss was palpable. She didn’t want him to stop. As if he knew what she was feeling, he didn’t pull back right away. His lips lingered against the corner of her mouth. Then he moved to her jawline, the column of her throat. He worshipped the sensitive skin on her neck, making her shiver with longing.

She breathed his name. “Rafe.”

His arms tightened around her and he buried his face against her neck. He drew a deep breath, his hard chest pressing against hers. Then he pulled back, pressed one more soft kiss against her lips and let her go.

They both sat back in their seats, staring out the windshield. Darby struggled to draw a normal breath, and from the sound of Rafe’s harsh breathing, he was struggling just as much as her.



Gradually the sensual haze he’d built in her began to fade. Her breathing returned to normal. Her heart stopped pounding in her chest and slowed to a steady rhythm.

And all the earlier doubts and recriminations slammed back into her.

“We sent an innocent man to prison,” she whispered.

“Yes.” His voice sounded defeated, broken, telling her he was thinking about Fullerton again, too.

“We ruined his life.”

Hesitation, then he murmured “Yes.”

Darby turned to look out the window as Rafe pulled back onto the highway.

* * *

AT ANY OTHER TIME in Darby’s life, if a devastatingly handsome man had taken her to a cozy cabin in the woods, miles from civilization, she’d have been excited. And she would have been awed by the pristine beauty surrounding her.



She would have stood by the lake behind the cabin, watching the sunset turn the water from deep blue to a rich burned gold. She would have marveled at the majestic, centuries-old oak trees, their thick branches clacking against each other in the light breeze that was picking up, carrying the scent of pine sprinkled in with the oaks.

But not today.

Because today she’d found out she’d helped destroy a man’s life, and that he in turn had then destroyed other lives. Victor Grant was dead. Mindy still hadn’t awoken from her coma, and probably never would. Clive McHenry was missing.

Darby’s shoulders sagged. She was just about to climb the steps to the front porch when lightning zigzagged overhead, flashing against the backs of the dark clouds rolling in, snuffing out the last of the sun’s light. Thunder rumbled, and the scent of rain was heavy in the air.

“It’s not safe to keep standing out here.” Rafe held the front door open, waiting.

His words had Darby fisting her hands and glancing around, expecting Fullerton to jump out at her from a nearby bush.

Rafe’s face softened with regret. “I was referring to the lightning. Or did you forget we live in the lightning capital of the world?”

She couldn’t help but smile. “I wonder if the tourists realize that when they come to visit the Sunshine State.”

She hurried up the front steps, just making it onto the covered porch when the first fat raindrops started pinging onto the metal roof.

The tour Rafe gave her didn’t take long. There wasn’t much to see. A great room downstairs, with an open kitchen, and a full bath. A wrought-iron spiral staircase that led to the open loft master bedroom and bathroom.

He set her suitcase beside the dresser, having left his duffel bag downstairs. Darby didn’t feel right taking the bed and making him sleep on the couch, but she knew there was no point in arguing. Rafe was old-fashioned, always opening doors, carrying her bag when she could have carried it herself. He’d probably be horrified if she suggested she sleep on the couch.

“Is it yours?” she asked, waving her hand as if to encompass the entire cabin.

He crossed his arms and leaned against the side of the dresser. “It is now. Dad’s arthritis pretty much keeps him home these days. But when I was a kid, we used to come up here for a whole month every summer—fishing, shooting, canoeing. Good times.”

“We?”

“My brothers, dad, me...and Trina.”

“Trina is your mom?” Darby ran her hand across the forest-green comforter on the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles.

“My middle sister, Katrina. She could outfish all of us, and outshoot everyone but Lance.”

“Lance...your youngest brother?”

“You remembered.”

“Told you. I’m a good listener.”



“So I hear.”

The lack of sarcasm in his voice surprised her. A few days ago he probably would have added a snide comment about her being a therapist. Instead, he quietly watched her, a half smile on his lips. Maybe being here in this cabin where he had so many good childhood memories was a balm for his soul with everything else going on.

She envied him that, envied the closeness he obviously shared with his family, memories he treasured.

Instead of memories he wanted to forget.

“Do you want to talk about it?” His deep voice cut through the dark thoughts swirling through her mind.

“Talk about what?”

“Whatever makes you so sad when I talk about family.”

She stiffened and snatched her hand back from the comforter. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Was it really that bad? Your childhood?” His mouth tilted up at the corner. “I’m a good listener.”

She shot him an annoyed glance and grabbed her small suitcase from the foot of the bed. “I’m going to take a shower. And after that, I’ll probably go to bed. It’s been a...trying day. Good night.” She hurried into the bathroom and closed the door.

* * *

RAFE CHECKED EVERY WINDOW, the front door, the sliders that opened onto the back deck. Everything was secure, but the lightning and thunder outside, along with the tinny sound of rain pounding down on the roof, made it difficult to hear any other sounds from outside besides the storm. If the killer somehow managed to figure out where Rafe had taken Darby and he drove up to the cabin right now, Rafe doubted he’d even hear the sound of the car’s engine.

That made him nervous as hell, especially since he was on the first floor and Darby was on the second.

Lightning cracked overhead, followed by a boom so loud it made Rafe wince. The lights flickered, and the cabin plunged into darkness.

He yanked his gun out of his holster and held it pointing down to the ground because he didn’t want to risk shooting Darby. He didn’t move for several moments, listening intently for any sounds that didn’t belong in the cabin. But all he heard was the storm.

And the shower running upstairs.

Having grown up in a house with three sisters, he knew what they would do if the lights went out while they were in the shower. First they’d scream, then they’d run out of the bathroom.

But Darby hadn’t made a sound.

That uneasy feeling Rafe had felt earlier kicked into hyperdrive. Guided by his familiarity with the layout downstairs, he hurried through the dark into the kitchen. A red, blinking LED light guided him straight to the flashlight mounted on the wall charger.

He positioned the flashlight at his shoulder, holding it like an ice pick, ready to use it as a weapon if it came to that. With his gun still aimed at the floor, he clicked the flashlight on and made a quick sweep of the room. Windows and doors still secured. He turned the flashlight off and lifted the edge of the curtains from the front window. A few seconds later, the flash of lightning illuminated the porch and yard beyond.

Nothing. No other cars, no stranger skulking through the grass or hiding on the porch.

But Darby still hadn’t made a sound. She hadn’t called out to him in the dark. And the shower was still running.

Rafe forced his breathing to remain slow and steady as he made his way to the spiral staircase.

He turned the flashlight back on, sweeping it up the stairs to the loft. Then he hurried up the stairs to the bedroom. Empty. And there wasn’t a door to the outside from this room, no balcony that would allow the killer to gain access to the bedroom without coming up the spiral staircase.

The odds of someone else being in the house besides him and Darby had just gone down close to zero, but he still wasn’t taking any chances. He held his gun down to his side and stood to the right of the bathroom door.

“Darby, it’s Rafe. Open the door.”



Nothing, just the sound of water running.

“Darby, I’m coming in.” Still nothing. Rafe tried the knob. It wasn’t locked. He slowly turned it, then shoved the door open and ran inside.

He shined his light around the room. Clear. No one hiding, ready to jump out at him. The only place left was the shower.

He hurried over and yanked open the shower curtain.

Darby was curled up in the tub, her eyes wide and glassy.

Rafe cursed and set his gun and flashlight on the bathroom counter. He shut off the water and crouched by the tub.

“Darby? Can you hear me?” He smoothed her wet, dripping hair back from her face, but she didn’t even flinch at his touch. She stared into space, just like she had back at the hospital. What the hell had happened to her to make her this scared of dark, enclosed spaces?

He stood and reached for his gun. He shoved it into his holster, then grabbed the towel off the rack and tucked it in around Darby. He scooped her out of the tub and cradled her against his chest, grabbed the flashlight and carried Darby into the bedroom.

He put the flashlight on the nightstand with the light shining up at the ceiling and tried to put Darby in the chair next to the bed, but she made a tiny whimper and clung to him. The lost, terrified look in her unfocused eyes had him stiffening with rage. He suddenly wanted to find whoever had hurt her in her past and tear them limb from limb.

With Darby clinging to him, he made a quick decision. To hell with being a gentleman and preserving her modesty. She was scared and shivering. He was going to hold her and keep her warm, and try to make her feel safe. She could yell at him later for what he was about to do.

He held her with his left arm, and used his right arm to put his gun on the nightstand. He raked the covers back on the bed, sat, turned and stretched out with her beside him, facing him. He pulled the covers up over both of them. The room was still dark, but with the flashlight on, there was enough light that he could see her. He stared into her vacant eyes, waiting for her to come back to him.

He used the end of the towel to gently blot her hair. Minutes dragged by. The storm continued to boom overhead. Lightning flashed against the windows.

Even with the rain cooling everything outside, with the power out and the air conditioner off, the room began to heat up. Rafe threw the comforter off them and covered Darby’s naked body with the towel.

Soon he was easing away from her, pulling his shirt up over his head. He shucked off his jeans, and would have taken off his underwear, too, except that he didn’t want to shock Darby when she came out of her trance.

He wished he’d spoken to the psychiatrist at the hospital. Rafe had no idea what to do for Darby, other than hold her.

He knew the exact moment she “woke up.” Her eyes widened and she drew in a shocked gasp as her gaze fell to his naked chest. Then she looked down at her towel, and Rafe could see the memory of what had happened coming back. Her hands flew up, covering her face. “I can’t believe I zoned out like that again. I can’t imagine what you must think of me.”

He gently but firmly forced her hands back down, holding them, until she quit trying to tug them away. “What I think is that something terrible happened to you to make you scared of dark, tight places. That’s not your fault, and doesn’t make me think any less of you.”

She drew in a shaky breath. “Thank you. And...thank you for...rescuing me from the shower.” She gave him a wobbly smile.

“How much do you remember?”

Her gaze dropped from his and she chewed her bottom lip. “Everything. I always do. Later. Once I... Once I’m myself again. But...during...it’s like I’m frozen, paralyzed, unable to move, or even really think.”

“This has happened before, even before the hospital?”

She nodded. “And before you ask, yes, I’ve had therapy. Years of therapy. It’s why I became a therapist myself, so I could help others the way someone once helped me.”

“Looks to me like whoever ‘helped’ you didn’t finish the job.”

She tried to yank her hands back. He let her have one of them, but he kept her right hand anchored securely in his left, entwining his fingers with hers and resting their joined hands on the mattress between them.

“What happened to you?” He rubbed his thumb in slow circles back and forth across her knuckles and waited.

Finally, she swallowed, and met his gaze again. “I was seven, on summer break from school. My mom and dad took us kids to my grandma’s for a visit. She lived in an old farmhouse outside of town, on farmland that wasn’t farmed anymore. There were run-down chicken coops and barns, trees to climb. Paradise for five young kids. When the weekend was over, everyone else went home, but I stayed. Grandma had always favored me, the oldest grandchild. She wanted me to visit a little longer. Mom and Dad were supposed to pick me up the next day.”

She shuddered and closed her eyes. Rafe released her hand and ran his fingers through her hair, feathering it back from her face.

“Go on,” he urged.



“My parents didn’t come back for me the next day. Or the day after that. They didn’t call, either. I was getting bored. Granny didn’t do a lot besides watch TV. So I went outside to play. I followed a trail into the woods, found an old shack out there, played house. I...was walking in the clearing beside the shack and I found this old, abandoned well. I was leaning over the edge, looking down, when...”

Rafe kept stroking her hair, waiting, giving her the time she needed.

“I fell,” Darby continued. She squeezed her eyes shut. “It was so dark. The water was cold, ankle deep. And there were rats...and bugs...and I screamed, and screamed, and...” She swallowed again, making a whimpering sound in her throat. “But no one came for me. No one came. No one answered my cries.”

She opened her eyes, and the bleak look had Rafe’s heart aching in his chest.

“I climbed out of that well all by myself. No one ever came for me. They abandoned me. It took me three days of trying to climb out, but I did it. I don’t remember what happened after that. I just... I don’t remember anything until months later.”

“Did you ever find out what happened?”

“What do you mean?”



“Your grandmother must have been worried sick. She must have searched everywhere for you. She—”

Darby shook her head. “I never saw my grandmother again after that. I don’t know what she did, or didn’t do. Everyone pretended nothing had happened. My brothers and sisters gave me strange looks, tiptoed around me. Mom and Dad never spoke about it, either.” She shuddered. “I left the day I turned eighteen. And I’ve never been back.”

Rafe stroked her upper arm. Something about her story sounded familiar, as if he’d heard it before. “When did all this happen?”

The corner of her mouth quirked up and some of the sadness left her eyes. “Are you trying to find out how old I am?”

He responded to the playfulness in her tone. “Caught me.”

“I’m thirty-three.”

That meant her accident was about twenty-six years ago. He would have probably been in fourth grade. Had he read something, seen something on the news about what happened? Why did it sound so familiar? Maybe he’d call Buresh about it, see if he could dig something up.

“What about you?” Darby asked. “You can’t ask a woman her age and not give quid pro quo.”

The fear in her eyes had completely faded. Some of the pressure in Rafe’s chest faded as well, and relief took its place. “Do you want that in people years, or guy years?”

“Guy years?”

“My sisters insist men mature much slower than women. According to them, I’m about twenty-six—no longer the partying frat boy, but not long enough out in the real world yet to attain real maturity. Apparently I need some gray running through my hair to be considered mature.”

Darby smiled, and this time the smile made it all the way to her eyes. “I think I’d like your sisters very much. So what does that make you in people years?”

Rafe was about to respond when the lights kicked on in the bathroom, and the air conditioner turned on, sending welcome cooling air washing over his skin. He glanced toward the window, watching for lightning, listening for thunder. “Looks like the storm ended.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

Something in her voice made his breath catch. She was looking at him differently than she had before, reminding him of the way she’d felt in his arms when they’d shared that heated kiss in his car earlier today.

When he’d found her in the bathtub, her naked state hadn’t even registered in his brain. All he’d wanted to do was get her warm and dry, and bring her back from the dark place where her mind had gone.

Now all he could think about was the nearly naked woman next to him, and that he was almost as naked as her. He needed to get out of this bed and out of this room before he did something they’d both regret.

He pulled back and reached for his jeans on the floor.

Darby’s hand on his back froze him in place.

“Rafe, don’t go.”